Friday, January 21, 2011

just me and my blog

The voice that squeals when our season tickets to the Dallas Opera arrive in the mail.

The voice that squeals just as loudly when my chef's knife, once again, slices right through a ripe tomato because Spoke has surprised me and sharpened it on the sly.

I've lost my other voice too. The private one I share in this public space.

Grief!

I know it will wane and one day soon I will wake up and want to rush to tell you about something. And it will be blithesome!

But this week I'm, brokenhearted and sick, doing other things.

Spoke and I inherited my dad's new compact refrigerator. The whole family had given it to him for his birthday. He loved it. It has a small freezer slot which he very quickly had planned to keep filled with gelato.

I emptied our kitchen refrigerator of all those things I need to keep but don't use regularly; cornmeal and dried cranberries. Several jars of peppers; roasted red ones, hot banana rings, and peperoncini. Yeast. Jars of anchovies and pickle relish...

It is amazing what it did for our fridge. There's open space now. Open space so oddly reminding me of the wide, flat fields across from the hospital. There was a spacious, brilliant red sunset one afternoon which my dad couldn't see from the bed.

It looks strangely in order too. I can reach right in for all the important things like eggs and champagne. I'm drinking a lot of it this week. Someone told me it's good for nursing nasty colds.

And check out all that butter. I've mastered scones! Guess who's happy? Yes, he sharpens my knives and I make him yummy scones; plain, raisin, cheese... Because they're sweet, I'm considering a black pepper version or even cayenne.

When I do, you'll be the first to know. I'll post the recipe on this blog of mine. I'll take some pictures, maybe of peppery scones with jam because the jam will make you want to eat them.

I love my blog. I love my blog because it's here for me, waiting. I love my blog because it's just the two of us. No editors. No deadlines.

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I believe each day gives us something; a few minutes of afternoon light casting intricate shadows on a dining room wall, or a delicious Pesto because the basil got knee-high.
Maybe some things broke my heart.......
I write about them all.
My name is Becca. I live in Dallas but I left my heart in Florence, Italy. I'd like to thank you for reading.